Perfection
by ShadeAngel
Summary: 62 SHOUNEN AI Any artist knows that perfection is in the faults. What does Duo do when he finds his artistic vision?


Perfection

Disclaimer: Alas, GW does not belong to me; I have no right to the boys or the plot of the series. I merely derive enjoyment in kidnaping them for a bit. Please don't sue.

Warnings: Yaoi/Slash, AU, swearing, sap factor

Notes: Written for Tosca for the Yuletide fic exchange. Site can be found at www . Intimations . org / yuletide (remove spaces) 

  
  
  
  


Perfection is in the flaws. Any self respecting artist knows this and knows how to take advantage of it. People don't see anything new in another painting or sculpture of another flawless Greek god. Well, any real art fanatic doesn't. There are always those just looking for an impressive piece of art to show off to the boss or the neighbors. We're assuming that the world is nothing but those with good taste. 

Okay, we're assuming that everyone has the same sort of idea of what taste is. I'm not trying to get into some sort of bar-like brawl over something so unimportant as taste. One persons trash is another's treasure, as the saying goes.

So, where was I? Ah, yes... perfection and flaws. You see, I'd been looking for the perfect subject, some perfect model that I could sculpt into the greatest piece to hit the art world since Michelangelo's David. Not exactly original, but a man has to have a vision and make a living while persuading it. Of course, four years of study and five years in land of the starving artist and I had yet to have found my Adonis.

The irony of it all was that, through my search, I had gained degree in the fine arts and had found myself doing caricatures in the local mall for ten bucks a pop with a majority of my earnings going to pay for my little corner near the Toys-R-Us. Needless to say, I was not so fresh and obsessively certain as I had once been in my younger years. 

I never expected to find him at that point, never expected to see him such a place as the mall. It never occurred to me that I had turned this man into some sort of unobtainable element in my life that I was ever striving. There were plenty of near hitters in the past. That half-Japanese guy for example. Had my knees a-knocking, that one did, but there was something missing about him. Got a nice little fling out of the whole deal, but nothing serious.

Oi.. I just can't seem to keep on track, now can I? Bad habit of mine, letting my mouth run way ahead of my mind.

So, as I was saying, I found him at the mall. Some parent had just slipped me a ten dollar bill and placed her seven year old brat on the stool in front of me. I happened to look up from the small cash box and there he is. All silken blond hair, pale skin and eyes the colour of the sky on a cold winters day. It all spoke of Aryan descent and I found myself watching him, hypnotized as he walked across the marble floor towards the exit. The man I had been searching for since discovering stone could in fact be used for something productive was about to slip through my fingers and all I could do was stare stupidly.

I remember dropping my cash box at that point, calling a hurried apology at my customer and taking off like a bat out of hell. I'm sure no few people though I was a little mad, but I care about that now about as much as I cared then. 

He had just barely reached the door as I caught up to him, completely oblivious to the stir he'd caused me just by being there. 

"Hey!" I yelled and he looked back at me as I caught my breath. Too many hours spent sitting on my ass, painting little kids. I so needed a gym membership.

"Can I help you?"

I nodded furiously. "I'd like to sculpt you."

And he looked at me incredulously, eyebrows jumping into his hairline as I straightened and threw him an imploring gaze. "You've got to be kidding me."

I, of course, had to go all indignant. "Of course I'm not! You're perfect... I've been looking for you since I was in highschool. Gimme just a few weeks of your time. Or photos. Let me get reference photos."

He must of though me completely insane at that point, but artists are supposed to be eccentric after all, and I take eccentricities are as far as they can go.

"No."

"Dammit man, it's not like I'm looking for nudie pictures to paste all over the 'net. You don't have to be naked!"

He turned to go and I'd gone past desperate and was heading into panic. "Please! I'm desperate here! I've been searching for a vision since I discovered art and I've found you. Do you know what a big deal it is for an artist to actually find their vision? It's, like, less likely than winning the lottery. And here you are and here's me and you're just walking away and I'm never going to be able to sculpt you from memory. Even a caricature portrait would do... just one measly little drawing. Just a few minutes of your time... Fuck. You don't even care do you? If you walk away there's nothing left for me. My entire life's search was in vain because the subject I've been looking for just walked away. University was a complete waste and the rest of my life will be ruined, because I'll be left pining for the vision that I let slip through my fingers."

The blonde had turned back at this point and was regarding me with that intense, icy gaze. "Are you quite finished? Good. If some crazy-seeming man had come and propositioned you would you have been at all inclined to agree to the mans request? I find it highly unlikely. Now if you'll excuse me, I've obligations to attend to and I doubt they'd take the excuse that I was detained by an artist that thought me to be the subject of his entire life's search."

And he slipped away from me as easily as water through my fingers. I was powerless to stop him, powerless to do anything but return to my little corner and reassure my abandoned customer and try to wade through the rest of the day.

It would be nearly a month before I saw him again. A month of late nights trying to sketch him from memory without much success, of restless sleep and longing and regret. At no point had I ever been so low of spirit. Duo Maxwell, the jester of my year, never caught without a smile and here I was, alone in a smile apartment, moping about in depression. This was probably the longest month of my life and for no reason would I chose to live it again. If ever there had been a time where I hated myself this was it.

I had just begun to pack up my supplies the day I caught a glimpse of shimmering, white-blond hair. My attention was soon focused on the neat tail that rested against a broad back. My hands tightened on the pencil case I had just started to shove into my bag, something the sounded suspiciously like the crack of wood barely registering in my fogged mind. 

He was standing no more than ten feet away from me, the distance seemingly doubled by the achein my chest. All I could do was stand there, staring stupidly as he smiled at a pretty woman with short-cropped black hair and periwinkle blue eyes. His girlfriend, I assumed, and my heart sunk.

At which point I began to berate myself as, thin-lipped, I began jamming more supplies into my bag. Of course he was taken. What kind of man who looked like that wouldn't be? It was my own damned fault for going and falling for a man I'd only met once. Inherited my mothers cursed romantic streak. Why couldn't I have been more like my father? Calm, collected and totally levelheaded. I'd never have followed a foolish dream for the better part of ten years if I had have been more like him. I probably would have had a desk job; something completely safe and reliable.

I paused and thought over that. Maybe not. Such a horrible way to live with all that routine and normalcy. I shudder to think about it. 

A polite cough brought me out of my wanderings a few minutes later and I started, looking up to find a familiar pair of pail blue eyes watching me, a hint of amusement glinting in their depths. My grasp on my duffle went limp and the bag fell to the floor as I gaped at the taller man. 

"I was wondering if the offer you made me last months still stands," the blond finally said.

I was floored. Completely and utterly poleaxed, nodding dumbly as his lips flit into a tiny smirk. 

"Good then. I'm going to assume that you would actually prefer to have me present for most of the process so..." he pulled out a business card and handed it to me, "you can reach me there. Both my business and cell numbers are listed."

"Nng." Oh how articulate of me...

He just continued to smirk that oh so sexy smirk and nodded his head at be. "Call when you figure out a time and I'll work my schedule around it. Again, Mr Maxwell, I have business to attend to. I shall be hearing from you soon, I hope."

And he walked of, leaving me to watch with the stupidest, most confused and shocked expression on my face. How the hell did he know my name?

  
  


It wasn't 'til I got home that night that I finally got a look at his business card. Some where in all the surprise I'd completely forgotten about it.

It was your typical business card; white, rectangular, traditional font and the name of a company listed at the top. It was the name that floored me Zechs Marquis. He was the damned CEO of Peacecraft Inc, one of the biggest producers of computer technology in the world. He was the half brother of Relena Peacecraft, a politician and also owner of the company her brother ran. I had asked one of the most influential men in the city to pose for a sculpture.

My knees buckled and I sat heavily on my couch, still staring blankly at the card. It could have been so easy to have had this situation turn out so wrong. If he had have been offended by my request he could have had been jailed or charged or something else I found unappealing. 

It had also made me a little unsure of myself. This man was big. He was used to the richer things in life, to having the ability to pay just about any artist to create a piece of art in his likeness and yet he'd said yes to my offer. Albeit nearly a month after I'd first approached him, but he'd still taken me up late. It was completely mind boggling and I found myself hesitant to call and set up a time.

Looking around my apartment, I was reminded of the hell my life had turned into. Normally I'm a fairly neat person, but at that point everything was in complete chaos. Clothes were strewn throughout the living room, dishing piled up in the sink and art supplies littering the room. A blank canvas lay on top of an arm chair, tubes of paint and brushes on the table beside it. Old text books and scraps of paper littered the floor. The actually carpet actually only peaked out of the mess in a few pieces and I was sure I hadn't seen the entire thing in at least three weeks.

So, first course of action, I needed to clean my house.

It took more than four hours the get this down and by that point it was nearing midnight. Best to try calling him in the morning.

There was no answer. Waited until mid-afternoon. Still no answer. I'd begun doubting him by that point and had gone to being more annoyed with the prank this so called respected businessman had played on me.

Finally, I tried right when I got home, expecting to answer and promising myself not to call again if this was the case. There was an answer.

"Hello, Zechs Marquis speaking."

"Hello... uh... this is Duo Maxwell. The artist from the other day. I was wondering if you were still willing to pose for me?"

"Oh, Duo, I'd have suspected you'd changed your mind. I'm just as willing as when I agreed. When shall we be meeting?"

"Well... this weeked seems nice. I won't have work and this way we could have this finished a little sooner."

There was a slight pause and the sound of rustled paper. "That's fine. Where will we be during the sessions?"

"Oh, my apartment should be fine. It's-"

"I know where it is, Mr Maxwell, I never go into a business venture without first researching the parties involved. So I shall see you around ten Saturday, then?"

"That sounds fine to me. See you then, I guess."

"Goodbye, Mr Maxwell."

That was one hell of a phone call. 

The rest of the week was a bit of a daze, the anticipation of it all wrapping me in some sort of dense fog. I can't hardly remember most of what occurred while I was out of it, just that I was both excited and nervous all at the same time. Like some silly school girl with a crush. I had to keep reminding myself that this was for art and not the man himself.

Friday came and went and I sat there most of Saturday morning, a pot of coffee constantly on the boil as the nerves cause caffeine craving. When the knock on my door finally came, I was so wired I must have jumped a foot in the air. He was there and there was no turning back on it.

Hands sweating, I answered the door. He stood there in the hallway, seemingly completely at ease with his surrounding and looking nothing like the crisp no nonsense businessman he's been in our previous encounters. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a blank white t-shirt he looked more like a middle class suburbian. It was almost frightening, the transformation a different wardrobe could do someone.

After a few minutes of silence, his gaze turned bemused and I came back to myself with a jolt and stepped back from the door. "Why don't you come on in?"

"Thanks."

I led him in through to the living room and gestured to the couch. "Make yourself at home. You want anything? A drink? Something to eat, maybe?"

"I'm quite alright, thank you for the offer."

I sat down on the armchair across from him and started fiddling with my braid absently. "I figured we could spend the first couple days sketching. It's always good to have a few preliminaries done, that way I can work on the actual piece without having you hear the entire time. It's a fairly long process and I'm sure you can't be hear the entire time."

He nodded then, expression clearer and more easy going than I'd seen it in the past. "That's fine with me. What exactly did you have in mind for this."

"Well, something true to life. Not something like the Greek sculptures with gods and their perfect heros, but something that's real and people with identify with. I want you looking as relaxed and comfortable looking as possible. The sculpture won't be abstract, either."

"I'd wondered about that," he said, smiling. "I was rather worried that I'd be made out of coat hangers or china plates. I myself find no real sense to pieces like those."

"They're not really supposed to make sense," I explained out of habit. "There's supposed to induce some sort of emotion. Abstract is about what the piece makes you feel, not what you see. Well, generally that's the idea."

He nodded and there was an uncomfortable silence which I eventually tired of and began shuffling around for my sketchbook and pencil. "So, why don't you just make yourself comfortable and I'll get to it."

Another nod and he shifted, resting against the back of the couch, arms falling to drape at his sides. His gaze was still leveled at me, watching with a shrewd intelligence that was making me even more nervous as I put the pencil to paper. Fairly soon, though, a strange calm came over me. The one that only comes with art. I can sit there for hours, working on some piece, mind completely blank and never notice that any time at all has passed. It was like floating and this was the sensation I had always reveled in as an artist. It allowed me to disconnect from the world, all my problems, if only for a little while.

It wasn't much a surprise when I didn't come back out of it 'til I'd finished at least seven different sketches in as many poses. It was past lunch and was nearing about mid-afternoon and I blinked rapidly as I cleared away the swirling thoughts that had been launched at me.

Zechs looked to be asleep on the couch, facing towards me with one hand curled up right next to his face. It was enough to make me want to change my mind and paint the scene, but I'd been dreaming of the sculpture far to long to give it up for whimsy. 

He shifted, curling his knees up to his stomach and there's a flutter in my stomach, almost an ache as I pulled out another sheaf of paper. He looked so soft, so vulnerable with his face smooth and pale like porcelain, his hair falling over his face and around his shoulders. Still, I couldn't see his eyes being anything but cold.

After I'd done I set the picture aside and climbed to my feet, moving to stand beside the blond. He grumbled quietly as I shook his shoulder gently and blinked sleep-filled eyes up at me.

"C'mon blondy, I'm thinking you're gonna wanna go home about now."

"Duo? Oh.. Oh, yes. What time is it?"

"About five. Not too late, but we've got quite a bit done. I should be able to chose a pose from the sketched I've got here."

He nodded and climbed drowsily to his feet. The sight of the empty couch was enough to make me sigh regretfully as he pulled on his shows. I led him towards the door and he paused before exiting. "Same time next week, right?"

I nodded. "That's fine. If you need to cancel you know my number, I'd assume."

"Of course," he smiled wryly and continued, calling back, "See you then."

And he's gone and my apartment seemed empty without his presence as I returned to my spot on the chair. The sketches were stacked messily on the stand next to me and I reached over to grab the last one I'd done. It was my favorite, the most natural of the poses and it spoke of a greater emotion. The soft lines and curves of the pencil give it a more emotional feel, perfect for water colour and I couldn't resist pulling out my supplies and starting to do a more professional piece. 

The casual clothes and position work to make him look more appropriate with his surroundings and I couldn't help but wonder if, had our social positions in life been different, might I have the chances of having him as a permanent fixture in my life. 

  
  


The next few sessions go much the same way, with him sitting there and putting up with my gaze as my drawings become more detailed and I became more acquainted with the sight of him. I could see the slight creases at the corners of his eyes, the groove between his brows, the way his lips are too thin, too wide, his nose too long. It was these features that flatter him the most, the ones that identify him as human and not god. 

It was almost a relief to have this fact proven. It took me a step closer to having what I want. The hope of it all, though, was probably all misplaced, but there wasn't a lot I could do in order to stop it from blooming.

Finally, we got to the point where I could actually begin to sculpt. I chose a picture of him sitting cross legged, elbows resting against his knees and hair streaming over his shoulders with the tiniest of bemused smirks. We'd been talking the day I'd done that one and it was one of the first true expressions I'd seen on him.

He was present when I cracked into my packages of clay, watching as I beat one it, clumping it together into a large-ish blob. When the regular amount of time had passed and he got ready to leave he paused to stare at the indistinct form. "I hope this isn't all of it."

"Of course not. That's just the basic shape of it. It'll take me a while to do the rest. The clay doesn't dry, you see. I have to take it down to the art studio down town once I'm finished and have it fired. They have a kiln there that they offer to the public for use. It's fairly inexpensive."

"What do you plan on doing with it once you're finished?"

I shrugged, running muddy fingers through hair that was already caked in clay. "I'll try to have it put in any of the galleries, but I'm not exactly famous. The chances of any of my pieces being put anywhere are pretty slim."

He nodded, eyes going distant and I had to wonder what he was thinking. I'd grown to know him fairly well. I knew the nuances. I knew he was planning something. Zechs Marquis is a very shrewd man and when he's planning something not all are likely to come out unscathed.

I didn't mention it as he left, but wondered about it long into the night.

  
  


We fell into another routine as the sculpting became part of our weekly routine. He'd come, sitting in the pose I'd chosen and I sculpted with the odd conversation adding to the comfortable companionship we'd formed over the last few months. He came in one Saturday and something had changed. He gazed at me heatedly and his side of the conversation seemed to lay heavily in the air, holding a sense of meaningfulness it hadn't before.

"I met with a business partner the other day," he told me almost off handedly as he helped tidy my supplies. "Apparently you'd gone to school together before his father passed away and he was forced to leave and pick up the family business. Quatre spoke of you quite fondly."

"Quat?" It was such a shocking thing. I hadn't seen the other young man since second year university. He'd been one of my best friends at the time and I had quite missed him after he'd been pulled from school. "How is he doing? I haven't been much for reading the paper and I never did keep track of what was going on in his life."

Zechs leaned on his broom. "He's fine, I suppose. There's a bit of a scandal going on in his life with the discovery of his sexual preferences. The media learned of the relationship between he and his young friend Barton through a leak in his household staff."

"He's still with Trowa. Good. The idiot almost broke up with Quatre when Quat was called back to his family. Thought he's make his life complicated. Glad to see Sunshine convinced him differently."

The blond smiled. "He was quite happy to hear you were relatively well. He wasn't so shocked when I told him you'd coerced me into posing for you. Apparently you can be very persuasive."

"I did not coerce you into this," I protested. "You're the one that came back to me. You're the one-"

"Duo? Shut up."

And he kissed me, shocking and soft as his breath whispers against my face. I knew that I'd gotten my wish. I had a man who's looks had made me want him and personality had made me love him. 

  
  


It wasn't all happily every after for the rest of our live, of course. But I know, as I walk the width of my first art showing, that things will never be as bad as they could have been. He helped me become the artist I knew I could be and I helped him become the human outside of the CEO. We do fit well together and all I can hope for in the end is a lasting relationship.

~FIN~

Shade: I hate this fic... well, I hate the end of it, really, but mostly I dislike it all. Rushed through the last half to have it in on Dec 22 which was the deadline. Didn't get it betaed and the characterization is all wrong. Generally, I've stopped writing GW, but, hell, this was the only request that I was familiar with and I honestly don't mind the pairing. So, happy belated holidays all! ^^

  
  
  
  



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